


evening jog

by prankingteapot



Series: dr: 1 [6]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: F/M, i wrote this due to boredom/dangan ronpa sims shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prankingteapot/pseuds/prankingteapot
Summary: Every time the detective would text him, it would be time for his evening jog.





	evening jog

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired due to the in-game shenanigans of Leon Sim somehow romancing and sleeping with Kyoko Sim while being married to and having a baby with Sayaka Sim. i wrote this little piece while watching this drama unfold and then thought i’d toss it into the <strike>void</strike> world. i might turn it into a longer thing someday, but for now, it’s short and to the point. hope you like it!

* * *

It was wrong, and he knew it. 

But whatever spell she’d hit him with, he was under it hard. 

Everytime he told his beloved he was going for an evening jog, he imagined pushing the knife of lies deeper into her heart. They were married, they had a month old baby. 

And yet, a few nights a week, he’d go to the neighbor’s house and slip under the covers with her for a little fun. The spare bedroom was in the back of her apartment, and each time they went down the hallway the guilt would creep in. But for whatever reason, he continued doing it; the guilt ebbed as soon as he was in bed with her, kissing her. Leaving little marks on her neck, one hand slipping under her robe to grasp at her breast. Her moans into his mouth reminded him of his beloved’s, but they weren’t; they were his other lover’s. 

Each time she offered to reciprocate, at first he imagined that it was his wife’s tender hand wrapped around his length. But it wasn’t, and the guilt prolonged his pleasure. She’d bring him right to the edge, and then he would remember it wasn’t his wife’s strokes, but the detective’s, and he’d temporarily lose the feeling. Eventually, he’d get there. 

He wondered if she felt any remorse for what they were doing every time he went down on her, listening to her moans. How they so resembled his wife’s. She even liked the same things, but when his eyes locked with hers as he ate her out, he was reminded that it wasn’t her. Purple eyes instead of blue. Low, deeper moans instead of high pitched ones. 

Sometimes when he fucked her from behind, he would lose himself and temporarily think he was fucking his wife, grasping her slender hips as he slammed into her, the feeling not much different. Except it was; she was much tighter, foreign. Maybe that was the guilt, but he still did it. 

When she rode him, he was very aware it wasn’t his wife; her movements on top of him were so much different than hers, more precise and calculated. While his wife rode him quick and desperately, she rode him slower, making it last. Maybe she felt like it would be their last tryst, and wanted to relish every inch of him inside her for what could be the last time. 

His wife wasn’t dumb. But she hadn’t seemed to catch on, either. He’d certainly hear an earful (and then some) if she ever did, but even despite that, he continued doing it. 

Every time the detective would text him, it would be time for his evening jog.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! c:


End file.
